It's so wrong that this man is marking him everywhere and with every new angry streak he leaves on his skin, Shinjirou wants to shove him off more. Now that he belongs to someone, it is suddenly not as fun as it used to be to let a complete stranger paint him red and black and blue.

Instead of hitting the man, he makes his own body move in a harsher pattern, meeting every hard thrust. He's spilling again, can feel it drip onto his own chest more than he can see it; as told, he looks at the man to let him catch every change. The way his brows knit together when the guest hits a perfect angle and his mouth opens wider when his screams rise in volume.

He's quick to slip his hands below his knees and pull them up until they touch his face. He holds them there, fingers digging into his bruised thighs. "Fuck it into me, I want all of you, please," he begs, and he thinks he's doing a good job at it, too, letting his neediness color his voice. If he's doing it wrong, he's sure Jade will let him know, if the guest doesn't. "Your cock hurts so good."